


weclome to hell

by otherworld (snxckpxck)



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, No pairings - Freeform, One Shot, Songfic, coming to terms with reality, i fucking forgot i had this ready to post oops, mentions of gentrification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25309429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snxckpxck/pseuds/otherworld
Summary: Any witnesses of the Demon of San Francisco eating some dude in the park make absolutely no claims the following days. At least at night, the park is where no one wants to draw any attention to themselves.---short oneshot of eddie brock coming to terms with the fact that he's got a new roommate who doesn't pay rent. songfic based off of the songwelcome to hell by venom(yes you read that correctly)
Kudos: 17





	weclome to hell

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know there’s a British heavy metal band named Venom? I didn’t know that until I made the playlist that I used as writing inspiration for ‘[loser](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495478/chapters/38632868)’. Also hi. I definitely haven’t written that AC/DC fic anthology yet. Here’s an introspective drabble instead. And how about that Venom 2 news.
> 
> Slight canon-divergence. Mentions of drug and alcohol use. Borderline freeform.

> _Fight, we will fight right,_
> 
> _Living low in a world of our own,_
> 
> _Destined to live right, fight,_
> 
> _We're taking hell as our home,_
> 
> _Burning lives burning,_
> 
> _Asking me for the mercy of god,_
> 
> _Ancient cries crying,_
> 
> _Acting fast upon the way of the dog_

*

Eddie can’t remember the last time he was sober (yes he can, it was this morning: in between job ads, cycling through Indeed on his phone, and asking old friends if they had anything he could do). He’s on his fourth beer when he hears the douchebag across the hall come home. He’s brought a girl home tonight. He can hear the stomping of heavy leather boots and a shrill giggle. Better pop a melatonin now before it gets to be too unbearable. 

Eddie mentally slaps himself at the idea of longing for human touch as he turns over in bed. His bed is cold, and the thought of buying a weighted blanket crosses his mind. He should have bought one ages ago. Annie wanted one during winter, but they splurged on a new mattress instead. Now they’re trendy and cost way too much.

His apartment isn’t shabby comparatively, but it’s far too ‘post-grad fresh out of college’ for his tastes. The plant from the old lady two floors down was a nice addition to the cheap IKEA bookshelf he’d found on the street. He helped her with her groceries, and she gave him a plant. Law of equivalent exchange, or so they say.

It’s been months since he’d lost everything. His job. His home. His _Annie._

His _everything._

But wallowing in pity and self-doubt wasn’t going to pay the bills. He’d had some money saved out but that shit’ll run out fast, given how expensive the Bay’s gotten. 

_Fuckin’ tech industries._

He checks his phone to make sure his alarms are set. He agreed to be a temp employee for a friend of a friend’s cousin who needs help doing some heavy lifting for a home construction job. He stares out the window through a gap in the curtains. The view is shit. It’s the same brick wall he’s been looking at for weeks. He closes his eyes to actually try to sleep. The wall is still there.

*

> _Kill we will kill death,_
> 
> _Masturbating on the deeds we have done,_
> 
> _Hell commands death kill,_
> 
> _Argue not of feel the death of sun,_
> 
> _Burning lives burning,_
> 
> _Asking me for the mercy of god,_
> 
> _Ancient cries crying,_
> 
> _Acting fast upon the way of the dog_

*

Eddie’s panting, running, running. He doesn’t know what he’s running from, but he keeps going. He keeps going because there’s dead bodies in the lab, he ripped a door off its hinges, and he scaled a tree to hide from a heavily armed security team. He doesn’t even know if Skirth is alive. He’s running and he’s scared and panicking, and he can’t even call Anne ( _oh Annie_ ) for help right now because the Life Foundation is the group that took everything and now they’re coming for him.

He doesn’t know how he makes it back to his apartment. _Calm down, calm down, calm down. Focus on something else in the room._ He’s holding onto the counter when he focuses on the couch. 

_Couch. Couch. Couch._

He’s sitting on the offensive piece of furniture: a faux leather couch with some questionable smells, from a friend of a friend’s cousin’s uncle. A few sessions with Lysol (spray and wipes) after purchasing the couch for $40 eased his paranoia.

His breathing slows as he takes in the space around him. It’s nice for a shithole in a not so nice neighborhood. The guy across is definitely a tool with no common courtesy, but the exposed brick is rustic and the landlord is kind enough to take smaller installments in his rent so long as Eddie doesn’t snitch on the pot dealers on the fourth floor. Weed may be legal, but selling it in an establishment warrants the possibility of the Feds coming in and taking all of it at any given moment. At least there’s no meth (that he knows of).

His attention suddenly focuses on the loud sounds of the city. He can hear sirens from two blocks away. He can hear the city in its more raw state: industrial clangs, too many sirens, the impatience of white collar drivers honking the horns of their luxury vehicles. It’s far more urban than the hippies had ever dreamt of during the summer of ‘69. There’s an overwhelming smell of pot from above and below. His hands dig into a pillow cushion, and the rough feel of the fabric has him jerking his hands away, rubbing his fingers together, and then running his hands down his face.

Then suddenly. 

_Hunger_. An overwhelming hunger. An overpowering hunger for something _anything_ as the sensation in his stomach deepens, and chills run up his back.

**_Hungry_**.

*

> _Die we won't die live,_
> 
> _Our choice of difference is what you'll never know,_
> 
> _Mortal voids live die,_
> 
> _Buried deep beneath the fall of the snow,_
> 
> _Burning lives burning,_
> 
> _Asking me for the mercy of god,_
> 
> _Ancient cries crying,_
> 
> _Acting fast upon the way of the dog_

*

Eddie doesn’t know what (or who) Venom decided to pick up as a quick snack. He assumes it’s a small animal given the fact that they’re running from the authorities by hiding in the shadows in the park. He really doesn’t want to disrupt the sleep of any of the park’s residents, camped out in the crevices and corners they’re forced into, given the city’s poor addressment of the homelessness issue. 

The last time they stumbled onto a camp it was full of families, forced out of the apartments they had lived in for generations. 

It took everything he had to try to calm them down, and assure them that he wasn’t going to eat any children. He had forced Venom to remain calm, even as he was being physically harassed with the slaps of sandals and slippers from older women calling him the Devil. 

The park is usually his safe retreat at night, as no one wants to draw any sort of attention to themselves. Venom recedes into his body as he strolls along one of the many paths. It takes him awhile to figure out just exactly where they are. He stumbles upon a familiar bridge and body of water, sighing in relief as Strawberry Hill comes into clearer view. 

His moment of peace is suddenly interrupted, however, as he is almost immediately accosted by a man in some very nondescript clothing, a scarf or bandana wrapped around his face, and a beanie pulled close to his eyes. The man brandishes a gun and starts to speak. 

Eddie’s heard it all before, and his body strains as he tries to calm Venom down, “Take it easy buddy. We don’t want anyone to really get hurt here.”

He lowers his head as if to calm the other man down, and pulls out his wallet, “Listen, I only got like five dollars in cash, okay?”

The man calls bullshit and waves the gun threateningly. Eddie’s walking backwards, out of the light of the lamp post. The man follows suit, “Are you trying to bullshit me, right now? Stop fucking moving!”

“H-Hey! Calm down, big guy!” Eddie says aloud. Little does his assailant know, he’s actually telling the alien symbiote that, instead.

**We should just eat him**.

_It’s not his fault. This city doesn’t do well to help those in the most need. He’s probably just trying to feed himself, or maybe even someone else_.

Eddie hears the audible click of the gun. 

“Listen, I’ll put the wallet down, you don’t wanna do this,” Eddie says as he lowers his arms. 

“Phone, too, you bastard!” the assailant calls out, “I know you probably got one of those!”

Eddie shrugs, “Now that I can’t do. Got some sensitive information on here, man.”

He thinks of the photos and information he’d collected on an investment banker suspected of involvement in a human trafficking ring. The treasured photos from when he was with Annie. Too many contacts who can’t have their numbers leaked. The fact that his phone doesn’t have a lock because he keeps forgetting his passcode pattern. 

The man across from him is definitely coked out, now that he’s under the light himself. He’s twitching, his eyes are red and bloodshot, and he looks like he drank a gallon of 5-hour in the span of thirty seconds.

**What was that about a family?**

Eddie’s about to protest when the gun goes off, shot in some random direction.

**Nope.**

Any witnesses of the Demon of San Francisco eating some dude in the park make absolutely no claims the following days. At least at night, the park is where no one wants to draw any attention to themselves.

*

_Welcome to hell_

**Author's Note:**

> I ABSOLUTELY FORGOT I HAD THIS FIC FINISHED LMAO


End file.
